


If I kiss You Will Your Mouth Read This Truth

by veritas_st



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 15:30:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritas_st/pseuds/veritas_st
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to Feel Me, Completer.  </p><p>Stiles has got his head buried in a pile of books, first year exams are coming up and Stiles has spent most of the year tangled around Derek.  Hence the pile of books he’s currently surrounded by.  Not that he minds, because hell, he’ll take Derek over studying any goddamn day of the week, studying doesn’t know where to press to turn Stiles into a gibbering wreck, or that surprisingly behind his ear is an erogenous zone, or how to press his nose to the back of Stiles’s neck when he has a nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I kiss You Will Your Mouth Read This Truth

Stiles has got his head buried in a pile of books, first year exams are coming up and Stiles has spent most of the year tangled around Derek. Hence the pile of books he’s currently surrounded by. Not that he minds, because hell, he’ll take Derek over studying any goddamn day of the week, studying doesn’t know where to press to turn Stiles into a gibbering wreck, or that surprisingly behind his ear is an erogenous zone, or how to press his nose to the back of Stiles’s neck when he has a nightmare. 

Stiles sighs, shifts, presses a finger to his temple as the words on the page swim in front of him. He’s studying about the origin of myths at the moment and he cant help snorting whenever they mention Werewolves, some of the things they just have so wrong, like how they change into bloodthirsty, single minded killers every full moon. His phone rings, well vibrates nosily next to him, buzzing across his pad of paper until he picks it up. 

“Are you studying?” Stiles grins and leans back in his chair, runs a hand over his hair, he’s let it grow recently, and he can still feel the ghost of Derek’s fingers clutching at it as Stiles was on his knees with Derek’s dick in his mouth two days ago. 

“I was,” he answers, “but you know, if you keep phoning me to check whether I am studying, I have to stop studying to answer the phone, thus whenever you ask the question, I have to answer correctly, which is ‘no’, because otherwise you will know I’m lying…” 

“Stiles, shut up,” Derek growls, but there’s a fondness in his voice that he can’t hide and it makes Stiles grins ever wider. 

“Did you just call to let me know you miss me? Cos you know? It’s getting kind of embarrassing now, I mean, I only left a few days ago and you call me every day…” 

“Stiles,” Derek sighs and Stiles lets out a laugh, gets shushed by the Librarian and Stiles mouths sorry at her. 

“I miss you too by the way,” Stiles says and Derek’s silent for a second. Stiles knows it’s hard for him, it always has been, always was even before Stiles woke up to the fact that he was stupidly in love with Derek, even before that Derek didn’t voice his emotions, Stiles can’t really expect him to now. It’s a good thing that Stiles knows him, because he hears him swallow and he knows that means _I miss you_. 

“Get back to studying,” Derek says gruffly and Stiles rolls his eyes, wishes he could distract himself with Derek’s stubble under his palms. 

“Ok dad,” he replies. 

“Stiles.” 

“Sorry…do you prefer sir?” he jokes and Derek’s breathing hitches for a second, but then he sighs again and Stiles tries to ignore the spike of lust that skitters up his spine at the image of him on his knees with Derek’s hands in his hair and the word ‘sir’ falling from his lips. So inappropriate, he thinks as he shifts slightly uncomfortably. 

“I’m hanging up now,” Derek mutters. 

“Love you too,” Stiles sings down the phone and is then greeted with the dial tone

“Parent’s huh?” Stiles jumps slightly. In front of his table, with an amused yet sympathetic look is a guy Stiles has seen once or twice in here before. He’s a good looking guy, not Derek good looking, but good looking nevertheless. Sandy blond hair, just the wrong side of long, but big blue eyes that blink at Stiles as he tries to figure out what the guy’s saying. 

“Oh no that was my…boyfriend,” Stiles says eventually and the guy’s face creases up with confusion, and a hint of revulsion. 

“You call your boyfriend dad?” he asks and Stiles nearly chokes on his own tongue. 

“No…wouldn’t that be creepy and kinda gross, no that was a joke…he’s a couple years older so he’s all ‘study Stiles’, ‘get good grades Stiles’ but I know it’s only because he loves…” Stiles makes a face as he bites on his lip to stop his entire love life spilling to a guy he’s only just met and the guy smiles. 

“Matt…by the way,” Matt sticks out his hand and Stiles shakes it. 

“Stiles,” he answers and the guy sits down next to him. 

“What are you studying for?” Matt asks and Stiles closes his book and shows him the front cover, “Mythology? Wow, kinda out of left field,” Stiles nods. A lot of people think that, even his dad asked Stiles why the hell he was going to major in Mythology with electives in History and English. Stiles doesn’t hate the question per se, but he just sometimes has a hard time coming up with an answer that doesn’t sounds weird. For some reason ‘my boyfriend and my best friend are werewolves so I’m kinda interested in it’ would probably make people look at Stiles like he needs to be locked up. 

“It’s interesting,” he answers and Matt shrugs. 

“Hell of a lot more interesting that Math,” he says and Stiles makes a face. 

“Eeww, gross,” Matt laughs. 

“Yeah but…” he pauses and a shadow passes over his face, when he looks back again he smiles wryly, “parents.” Stiles smiles back at him, full of empathy. His dad never pushed him to do anything he didn’t want to. Except study of course. But even then his dad knew that Stiles didn’t really need to, he just needed to let the teachers think that he was. 

“Stiles,” Cassie shouts, ignores the glare from the librarian and flings herself into the chair next to Stiles. She glares at Matt, pushes her hair off her face and fixes her stare at Stiles. 

“Cassie, this is Matt, Matt, my room mate Cassie,” Matt reaches across the table to shake her hand and Cassie curls her top lip. 

“Yeah, nice to meet you now fuck off,” she says and Matt looks shocked. 

“Cass,” Stiles admonishes and turns to Matt, “sorry, she’s uh…”

“Right here,” Cassie says and glares at Stiles. Matt stands. 

“Hey, don’t worry about it, never let it be said I don’t get a hint…nice to meet you Stiles, Cassie,” Cassie curls her lip again and then Matt’s gone. 

“What’s your problem?” Stiles asks and Cassie shrugs, leans back in her chair and puts her feet up on the table. 

“That guy’s the biggest player in school, he’s only been here a few months but apparently he’ll go for anything…no offence,” She says and pops a piece of gum into her mouth. Stiles wrinkles his nose and starts packing up his books. 

“Uh…thank you for protecting my honour Cass, but I have a boyfriend you know?” Cassie sticks her tongue out. 

“How could I forget cheekbones?” Cassie absently draws a spiral on Stiles’s notebook. The shape reminds him of Derek and he grabs the book out from under her pencil. 

“Did you want something other than to protect my innocence?” Stiles asks and Cassie’s whole face lights up and she jumps to her feet and winds her arm through Stiles’s. 

“Well you know that you love me right?” She asks, fluttering her eyelashes and yes, Stiles really does. She’s rude, and abrasive, but when she’s in your corner, she’s one of the most loyal friends Stiles has ever known. She’s also a hell of laugh to watch romantic comedies with. 

“Sometimes,” Stiles answers and Cassie nudges him. 

“There’s…this guy,” she starts and Stiles pulls his arm out of her clutches. 

“Cassie! A guy? I’m shocked,” he feigns shock with a hand on his chest. Cassie flips him the bird and grabs his backpack. 

“Anyway, he’s playing tonight in the Foot Locker downtown…and…you’re coming with me,” she says and bounds off with Stiles’s backpack before he can answer. 

…

“You know I hate you right?” Stiles shouts over the god awful music. Cassie nods noncommittally and continues to stare dreamily at the guy in question. Foot Locker is a grunge music dive bar downtown, and Stiles now knows why its called Foot Locker. It smells. Of feet. And sports lockers. “You owe me big time.” He grumbles and Cassie grins at him, because she cant hear a word over the terrible music. Stiles sighs and feels his phone vibrate against his thigh. 

_Derek’s pining_

Stiles smiles at Scott’s message and types one back, _he misses me, can you blame him?_ , and shoves his phone back into his pocket. 

Scott had guessed straight away. Stiles had left Derek sleeping, which was a surprise, Stiles had thought that Derek would wake at the drop of a pin but he likes to think that Derek sleeps more easily when Stiles is there, and had gone to meet Allison and Scott for breakfast. Scott had wrinkled his nose the second he walked in and announced to the entire café that Stiles stank of sex and Derek. Allison had looked like she was going to burst into tears of joy and kissed Stiles on the cheek, punched Scott’s shoulder for being insensitive and proceeded to get every single detail out of Stiles whilst Scott tried not to vomit. 

He’s been great though, Scott has, and totally didn’t have a freak out about his best friend and his Alpha hooking up for ‘crazy werewolf sex’, Scott’s words, not Stiles’s. Allison’s just been like the biggest fan girl on the face of the planet and Stiles loves her even more for that. 

His phone vibrates again.

 _I’m not pining_. Stiles grins, feels the pathetic girly flutter he feels whenever Derek’s mentioned, or whenever Derek’s around, or whenever Derek touches him. 

_Don’t lie._ He types back and smiles at his phone as the message disappears. He looks up as he puts his phone back in his pocket to see Matt standing in front of him with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face. 

“Your dad?” he shouts over the music and Stiles laughs and nods. Matt holds out his beer and nods in Stiles’s direction. Stiles shakes his head and Matt nods in the direction of the door. Stiles glances at Cassie who only has eyes for the guy on stage who’s growling into the microphone and follows Matt outside. 

“God,” Stiles sighs as the fresh air hits him. Matt laughs and pulls out a packet of cigarettes, he holds it out to Stiles who shakes his head again. 

“You stand out like a sore thumb,” Matt says, lights his cigarette and takes a drag. The smoke coils upwards and Stiles watches it. 

“I’m here with Cassie, the rude one from earlier,” Matt nods and takes another drag. 

“Aaah yes,” Matt smiles easily, like he’s not offended in the slightest and Stiles finds himself smiling back. His phone vibrates again, with a call this time and Stiles pulls it out of his pocket with a grimace. 

“Sorry,” he mutters as he answers, then puts the phone to his ear, “hey,” he turns away so Matt can’t see the idiotic grin on his face. 

“You studying?” Derek asks and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“You have got to think of a better greeting than that,” he says and Derek, to his credit, lets out a small laugh. 

“Just thought I’d tell you that I’m not pining,” he says and Stiles snorts. 

“Of course you are, you miss me, you miss my body,” he says and Derek’s breathing hitches, “you miss…”

“Stiles say one more word and I am hanging up,” Derek growls down the phone and Stiles mouths an apology at Matt who shrugs and takes a sip of his beer. 

“Why?” 

“Because I’d rather have real sex with you than phone sex,” Derek admits and Stiles is so taken aback by the confession he can only blink. 

“Oh…” he says eventually, his stomach knotting itself and _Little Stiles_ stirring in his pants at the thought of real sex with Derek. 

“You’re home on Friday right?” Derek asks and hears Lydia shouting at Jackson in the background. 

“Yeah,” Stiles replies, trying to ignore the sudden rush of homesickness. The image of the Pack piled into Derek’s living room, Erica, Boyd and Isaac curled around each other whilst Isaac twirls his finger around one of her curls. Jackson and Lydia trying to pretend to ignore each other. 

“I’ll see you then…and Stiles?” 

“Yeah?”

“Stop going out and study please?” Derek hangs up and Stiles shakes his head as he shoves his phone into his pocket. 

“Sorry about that,” he says to Matt. Matt grins, blindingly, and Stiles has to admit, that if Derek wasn’t well and truly imbedded in Stiles’s life, he might have a little bit of a crush on the guy. Except there’s…well _something_ about him that makes Stiles uneasy, it’s something tiny, but it’s there. 

“Checking up on you?” Matt asks, and there’s a hint of a sneer in his voice. Stiles frowns. 

“No,” he defends and Matt holds his hands up and takes a step forward. 

“I don’t blame him, I would check up on you too,” he says and Stiles swallows, licks at his dry lips and Matt’s eyes follow the movement. 

“Uh…”

“Stiles, we’re leaving,” Cassie grabs at his arm and Matt steps away. 

“Wait…what? Why?” Stiles asks and Cassie tugs at him. 

“Please?” It’s the first time he’s heard Cassie say please and he looks at her, her brown eyes filling with tears. 

“Ok…ok, Matt I’ll…” Matt nods. 

“I’ll see you around, Stiles.” Cassie tugs on his arm again and Stiles wraps it around her. 

“What happened?” he asks and Cassie sniffs, wipes her nose on the back of her hand. 

“I hate men,” she announces as Stiles bundles her into his jeep. By the time he’s in the driver’s seat, she’s asleep with her head against the window. 

…

Three days later and Stiles is still on the couch, surrounded by take out cartons, empty tubs of ice cream and more than a few empty bottles of beer. Cassie’s in the same pajama’s she was in the morning after Foot Locker and she glares at anyone that isn’t Stiles, including the people on the TV.

Turns out, the guy was a dick. No surprises there, Stiles could have told you that, anyone who dressed like he did and pretended to be Kurt Cobain generally was a dick. Said dick was also making out with a ‘skanky blonde ho’. Cassie’s words. Stiles has spent the last three days mourning with Cassie because ‘you’re gay, you get it’. He’s not sure whether that’s a compliment or not but he shrugs and studies whilst Cassie watches crappy TV and laments her crappy love life. 

Friday morning arrives and Stiles throws his bag into his jeep, promises to bring Cassie back junk food and alcohol (he’ll get Derek to buy it) when he comes back on Sunday. She flips him the bird and tells him she loves him and then Stiles is driving away from _Pacifica_ back to Derek. 

Well ok back to Beacon Hills because he promised his dad he’d have lunch with him first. But _then_ back to Derek. 

After maybe having a quick coffee with Scott. 

…

His dad looks thinner, more tired. But then again Stiles always thinks that and it just fuels his guilt at leaving. His dad brushes off his concern like he normally does, and grills Stiles about school.

Stiles answers every question and bounces his leg under the table. 

Scott gives him a hug, Allison a kiss on the cheek and a genuine grin, and grills Stiles about his social life. 

Stiles tries to ignore the almost burning need to touch Derek. 

Then blissfully, Scott lets him go, after a silent exchange between him and Allison that leaves Stiles wondering what the hell happened. But he doesn’t care as long as he gets to see Derek. 

Derek’s on his porch, engine parts surrounding his feet and grease smeared up one arm. His t-shirt’s a soft marl grey, and he’s poking at a carburettor with a screw driver as Stiles drives up. Derek stops, looks up and cocks his head to the side, watches as Stiles climbs out of his car and stalks over to him. He doesn’t move, just waits for Stiles to reach him and the irony of that isn’t lost on Stiles as he reaches Derek and runs his hands across Derek’s chest. Derek lets out a quiet rumble, curls his fingers around Stiles’s wrist. 

Stiles grins up at him, one step below him and Derek’s jaw twitches and he tugs on Stiles’s wrists until Stiles has to lean into him. 

Derek leans down and covers Stiles’s mouth with his own. Stiles groans, and its like once they start, they can’t stop. Derek winds his arms around Stiles, hauls him up and close and Stiles steps up to the top step, leans into Derek and kisses him back, runs his hands through Derek’s hair. Derek’s tongue licks along the roof of Stiles’s mouth, in the way that makes Stiles’s knees weak and Derek hauls him even closer, crushes them together and growls into his mouth, “inside.” 

“You afraid you’ll have your wicked way with me out in the open?” Stiles mutters as Derek’s lips slide across his jaw and his hand slips under his t-shirt. Derek just growls in response and Stiles makes a mental note to goad Derek into outside sex in the not too distant future. They stumble through the door, Derek’s hands pressing to Stiles’s skin, and Stiles trying to get his hands between them to get Derek out of his pants. Stiles grunts in frustration and Derek tears his mouth from Stiles’s and pushes his jeans down his hips, steps out of them and hauls Stiles close again. It’s not enough though, Stiles can feel Derek’s dick hardening against his thigh, but Stiles’s thigh is clad in denim and he needs to be able to feel Derek right now. “Derek.” 

Derek lets him go, and Stiles whines, but only long enough to pulls Stiles’s shirt over his head and unpop Stiles’s jeans button. Stiles shoves his jeans down his thighs whilst Derek pulls his own shirt off and then there’s skin against skin and their tangling limbs as they practically fall to the floor, Derek’s body covering Stiles’s. Derek groans as Stiles wraps his leg around him and pulls their hips together. It’s almost instant, the reaction Derek has on Stiles, and now, on the floor, with Derek’s hot skin against his, Stiles is almost painfully hard. He whines, Derek’s teeth dragging across the skin of his throat and Derek drives his hips down. 

“Derek please,” Stiles groans as Derek sucks against his skin, slides his mouth over Stiles’s collar bone, down his chest and he bites gently on one of Stiles’s nipples. Stiles arches his back, fingers tangled in Derek’s hair. 

“I don’t have anything,” Derek mumbles against Stiles’s skin, swirls his tongue around Stiles’s navel, “and I don’t think I can let you go long enough to get upstairs.” Derek nips at Stiles’s hip and Stiles’s fingers scrabble against the floor boards trying to hold on as Derek moves his mouth lower and licks along the underside of Stiles’s dick. 

“Fuck,” Stiles groans as Derek sucks the head of his dick between his lips, tongue pressing into the slit. If Derek’s hands are skilful, which they are, more than once Stiles has been reduced to cursing and shuddering with just Derek’s hands, then Derek’s mouth is positively magic. Derek hums in the back of his throat, sends vibrations through Stiles and Stiles pushes his hips up, digs his fingers into Derek’s hair and tugs. Derek growls, fingers pressing into Stiles’s hips and he slides one hand around under Stiles, presses against Stiles’s hole. Stiles shudders, groans as he tries to pushes his hips down against Derek’s hand and up into his mouth. Derek’s finger pushes in, slowly, not far, and Stiles groans, lets out a string of curses, feels his orgasm coil in the pit of his stomach. Derek swallows around him, opens out his throat and presses his nose to Stiles’s stomach and Stiles comes, slamming his head back against the floorboard and practically biting through his bottom lip. 

Derek pulls off with a slick pop that should be as hot as it is, swipes his thumb across his lower lip and Stiles groans, reaches up to him and hauls him down, kisses the taste of himself from Derek’s mouth. He spins them both, gets a hand between them and curls it around Derek’s dick. Derek growls, low in Stiles’s ear, fingernails digging into Stiles’s shoulders and Stiles twists his hand, runs his palm over the tip of Derek’s dick, strokes back down and Derek comes, biting down on Stiles’s shoulder almost hard enough to hurt. 

“Hi,” Stiles lifts his head from Derek’s shoulder and grins down at him. Derek huffs out a laugh. 

“Hi,” he replies and runs his fingers across Stiles’s cheekbone, “good drive?”

“Can we maybe not be on the floor for small talk?” Stiles asks and Derek flips them, presses Stiles into the floorboard and kisses him slow and deep. 

Stiles drags the tips of his fingers across Derek’s stubble, along his jaw, because he can, because he can touch Derek like this now. Derek leans into the touch, practically purrs and Stiles leans up and kisses his chin. 

“You hungry?” Derek asks, nudging his nose against Stiles’s. Stiles grins, wriggles underneath him. 

“Starving.” 

Derek stands, stretches and Stiles takes a moment to appreciate naked Derek before Derek’s hauling him to his feet. 

…

Derek makes a linguine to die for, fried bacon, peas and cream and Stiles eats the whole thing whilst making moaning noises that would make a porn star blush. Derek just raises one eyebrow and his lips curl at one corner. 

Stiles thought the transition from friends to…whatever they are now, he hesitates to use the word _boyfriend_ in front of Derek, would be hard. But Derek’s been easy, and not much has changed except the fact that Derek touches him more now, well, the touches are more meaningful now at least. 

The smiles are longer too, just a shade longer, but they reach his eyes more, crinkle the skin at the corners and Stiles wants to run his fingers over the wrinkles when he does it. 

“What?” Derek asks warily and Stiles realises he’s staring, fork midway to his mouth. He puts his fork down, gets out of his chair, and walks around the table. Derek turns his chair outwards as Stiles gets to him, looks confused for a second and Stiles crawls into Derek’s lap, cups his hands around Derek’s face and kisses him. Derek tastes of cream, and underneath there’s still a lingering hint of Stiles and Stiles runs his thumbs across Derek’s cheekbones. Derek curls his hands around Stiles’s wrists and kisses him back. 

“Sorry,” Stiles mutters as he pulls away and goes to stand. Derek holds on tight. 

“I get it, I’m irresistible,” Derek replies with a smirk twinkling in his eyes. Stiles lets out a laugh. 

“Wow, Derek Hale making a joke, wonders will never cease,” Derek scowls and pushes Stiles off his lap and Stiles lands in an undignified heap at his feet. “See now that’s the Derek I know,” he grumbles, getting to his feet. Derek laughs and pulls him back into his lap. 

“Pack meeting tonight,” Derek mutters as Stiles strokes his fingers across the back of Derek’s neck. Derek shuts his eyes and rolls his neck.

“I’ll go home,” Stiles replies as Derek’s fingers dip into the back of his jeans. 

“You’re pack,” Derek reminds him, opening his eyes and fixing Stiles with a solid stare, one that has Stiles’s pulse stuttering, “now more than ever,” there’s something serious swimming in Derek’s eyes and Stiles wrinkles his nose in confusion. 

“Why now?” Derek rolls his eyes and sighs in exasperation. 

“For a clever guy, you’re a fucking idiot sometimes,” he pokes Stiles in the forehead. 

“Wow…thanks, love you too,” Stiles grins and Derek stands, holding onto Stiles tight enough that Stiles’s feet don’t touch the ground. Stiles hitches his legs up and around, locks his ankles around Derek’s waist and kisses the end of Derek’s nose. 

“Right…upstairs,” Derek growls, taking a step towards the stairs, he loosens his grip as if to drop Stiles but Stiles tightens his own and Derek sighs. 

“Always so pushy,” Stiles mutters and Derek hitches him up effortlessly. 

“I’ll show you pushy,” he growls. 

It’s wonder they don’t break something going upstairs, as Stiles makes it his personal mission to put Derek off by biting on his ear and whispering filthy things to him, things that makes Stiles blush as he says them, and by the time Derek throws him down on his bed, Stiles is hard and Derek’s got that look in his eyes that means Stiles is not leaving this bed for a good few hours. 

…

“I think you might have actually killed me that time,” Stiles stretches, groans when his muscles protest and Derek makes a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, his arm up covering his eyes. Stiles leans forward and clamps his teeth around his nipple and Derek hisses, hand curling into Stiles’s hair, body arching upwards towards Stiles. 

He honestly could do this forever, lie in bed with Derek for the rest of his life, as long as food was bought to them every now and then. _Little Stiles_ stirs and Derek tugs on Stiles’s hair. Stiles lifts his head and is met with Derek’s amused expression. 

“Really? Again?” He asks and Stiles shrugs, lazily arching his hips against Derek’s thigh. 

“Take it as a compliment,” he replies and Derek ‘s answering laugh is cut off abruptly as he sits bolt up right with his head cocked to the side. “What?” 

“Damn,” he mutters and stands, hauls his jeans up his thighs and Stiles sulks, pushes his bottom lip out and sulks like the teenager he is. “The others are here.” Derek leans down, hands pressed to the mattress and pulls Stiles’s bottom lip between his teeth. Stiles winds his arms around his neck, pulls him down and wraps his legs around him. 

“They already know,” Stiles mutters as Derek lets his lip go and slides his mouth down his jawline. 

“Yeah, but they’ll smell the sex from a mile away so we should probably at least be downstairs,” Derek replies and strains against Stiles’s grip. 

“You know its really creepy that you guys can smell that,” Stiles says and Derek laughs, takes advantage of Stiles’s lack of concentration and breaks out of his grip. Stiles sulks again and Derek throws his t-shirt at him. 

“Downstairs in two,” he orders as he walks out of the door. And Stiles resists the urge to throw his shoe at him.

…

Derek’s got a shirt on by the time Stiles gets downstairs, but his feet are still bare and Stiles takes a second to appreciate the way the muscles in his arms moves as he hauls a couch round to face the other. 

“You going to help or watch me do all the heaving lifting?” Derek asks without looking up and Stiles pushes himself off the doorframe and takes a step into the room. Derek stands up straight and smiles at Stiles, curls his fingers into Stiles’s waist band and tugs him close. 

“Super Alpha Werewolf,” Stiles says touching Derek on the chest with his forefinger, “puny human tag along,” Stiles points at himself and Derek runs his hands up his back under his t-shirt. 

“Speaking of, we’re training tomorrow,” Derek’s voice vibrates against Stiles’s lips. 

“Way to fuel my body issues,” Stiles replies as the front door flies open and Derek plants a kiss to his lips before letting him go. 

“Derek?” Scott shouts, even Stiles knows he could track Derek in a room full of Derek’s. He’s shouting for their benefit and Derek curls one side of his mouth at Stiles, trails his hand across Stiles’s stomach as he walks past him. 

“Here,” Derek shouts back and Scott’s head appears round the door frame, eyes clamped shut. 

“Hey douche bag, you can open your eyes, we’re fully clothed,” Stiles sighs and Scott cracks one eye open, looks relieved, and opens the other. Allison appears behind him. 

“Hey guys, I bought snacks,” she holds up a bag of chips and Stiles grins. He’s starving, despite the pasta from earlier. Derek raises an eyebrow at him. Derek likes to pretend he doesn’t like it when the pack meetings turn into impromptu movie nights, tries to hide a smile as they all pile onto a couch and argue over which movie to watch. He usually growls, chooses one for them and the pack shuts up. Erica curled between Boyd and Isaac, Jackson trying not to put his arm around Lydia and Scott and Allison so far entwined its hard to tell when one stops and the other begins.

Of course before it was usually Stiles and Derek left trying to ignore the sexual tension in the room with their thighs pressed together. 

Derek rolls his eyes and stalks into the kitchen and Stiles makes grabby hands at the chips. 

“Had a good afternoon?” she asks as Stiles shovels in a handful of chips and Scott wrinkles his nose. 

“If the smell is anything to go by, I’d say it was a great afternoon,” Stiles just about manages to swallow before choking and spitting chips everywhere, and leans forward to heave air into his lungs. There’s a strong hand between his shoulders and Stiles knows its Derek. 

“Dude,” Stiles croaks and glares at Scott, “creepy.” 

“Sorry,” Scott shrugs, “can’t help it.” 

Stiles glares at him half-heartedly and Derek’s hand slides down his back. 

“So do we have to be here long? I have plans,” Lydia flounces into the room, flicking her hair off her shoulder and Stiles leans back against the warm hand. Lydia grins at him, easily and genuine and kisses his cheek. “Anyway,” she turns back to Derek, “I have plans.” 

“Good for you,” Derek mutters and his fingers twitch against Stiles’s back. 

Erica, Isaac and Boyd are wrapped around each other again like some weird Siamese triplet and not for the first time Stiles wonders how the hell they aren’t actually all sleeping with each other. Derek assures him they’re not, he’d smell it if they were, which again Stiles thinks is creepy, but it’s like they’ve found strength in each other. And even though Erica knocked him out and shoved him in a dumpster, he has to admit that its kinda cute. 

Erica throws him a grin, the one she always give him, a hint of amusement and a whole lot of ‘yeah I’m cooler than you’, which she is, Stiles is fully aware of that, and even though she’s actually saved his life a couple of times, he’s still a little scared of the girl. Isaac and Boyd raise their hands in greeting but don’t say anything, preferring to continue staring lovingly at Erica. 

“There’s a roaming pack heading this way,” Derek says as the other settle down into their usual positions, and they fall silent. Even Jackson has the grace to look up from his cellphone. 

“What’s a roaming pack?” asks Isaac. 

“Not one like ours, they’re not static, and they’re usually aggressive. I just need to make you all aware, I need you to keep your eyes open, this is our town, not theirs,” Derek growls the last few words and Stiles looks at him. He’s got his Alpha face on, hard, impassive and the others are staring at him. Derek lifts his hand to Stiles’s thigh and gives it a quick squeeze. No one notices apart from Allison who winks at Stiles when he blushes. 

“Are they dangerous?” Allison asks and Scott winds his arms around her tighter. 

“Arent we all?” Derek replies and Allison blushes a little, “but generally not, but I don’t want to take any chances with you,” he looks at Stiles when he says that even though he’s still directing the pact and Stiles pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Are we done?” Lydia pipes up, looking at her cell phone and then Derek. Derek growls softly but then nods and she stands, shakes out her hair and strides out with Jackson trailing after her demanding to know where she’s going. 

Stiles shakes his head at them both. It’s almost amusing how they both try to deny they still like each other. 

“Stiles,” Derek’s hand is a solid presence on his shoulder and he looks up at him, “a word?” Stiles follows him into the kitchen. “I heard they might be passing through Moreno Valley, if they’re not already there,” there’s worry etched on Derek’s face and Stiles takes a step forward and runs his fingers down Derek’s arm. 

“I can look after myself, and why would they bother me?” Derek frowns.

“Maybe because you’re annoying, and you have a habit of getting into trouble,” he says and Stiles steps even closer and tugs on Derek’s belt loops. “I don’t want a repeat of Peter.” 

“Hey…I’m ok, I’ll be ok, ok?” Derek’s lips twitch and he cups at Stiles’s face. 

“Ok,” he says and presses his lips to Stiles’s briefly, “don’t suppose I could get you to stay here until they’ve gone?” 

“Not a chance,” Stiles replies and then grins. 

“You’re gonna be the death of me one day.” 

…

Stiles sighs as he pulls his jeep into his parking space and rubs at his eyes. It’s not a long drive to Pacifica but it feels like it when he can still feel Derek’s hands on him and he can feel the distance getting more with each mile he drives. Derek had asked him to stay again, Stiles had just shaken his head, kissed him hard and promised him he’d be home next weekend. 

Now Stiles just has to get through another week without him. 

It’s ridiculous really, Stiles spent two years without Derek, but he guesses its different now, now that he knows what Derek’s hands feel like on him, and that he knows how Derek’s stubble feels against the inside of his thighs. Now he knows, he craves it pretty much every waking minute. Although that could be his adolescent hormones playing up of course. The more romantic side of Stiles would like to think it’s because its Derek. 

He sighs again, climbs out of his car gingerly, Derek was…less than gentle the last time, fucking Stiles like he wouldn’t get another chance, fingers digging into Stiles’s skin hard enough to hurt. 

Stiles is a little worried that he loved every second of it. 

Loved every single second of Derek growling in his ear, whispering filthy things, telling Stiles he wasn’t allowed to come until Derek said so. Stiles shudders at the memory and grabs his backpack, slams his jeep door. 

Cassie is in the same position as when he left, but at least she’s got clothes on and her hair looks clean. She looks up from the TV and beams at Stiles. 

“You’re back,” she announces, like Stiles has no clue that he just walked back into his place. 

“Have you moved?” he asks and Cassie rolls her eyes, hits mute on the remote and pulls her knees up to her chin. 

“Yes I moved,” she says and pushes her hair back off her shoulder, “how was the weekend?” 

“You know,” Stiles says conversationally, “your morbid fascination with my sex life is kind of creepy,” a cushion flies at his face and he catches it, grinning at her, “and it was fantastic thank you very much.” 

…

“Where the hell have you been?” Derek growls down the phone and Stiles runs his hand through his hair. 

“I must have missed the memo telling me I have to tell you every time I leave the house,” Stiles snarks back. Derek growls again, his ‘I’m actually pissed at you so don’t push me’ growl. 

“With out your phone.”

“A mistake, sorry,” Stiles tries to placate because he’s starting to hear the panic in Derek’s voice. 

“Where were you?” Derek asks again, softer this time, and Stiles can almost imagine him pressing his fingers to his temple and closing his eyes, breathing in deep against the anger that coils under his skin. 

“I was studying, in the library,” he neglects to tell Derek that he lost track of time talking to Matt. Matt, who’s amusing and interesting, and cute, but so far from Derek’s league it’s not even funny. It’s not like it was a date either, the guy just keeps turning up wherever Stiles is. He’s seen him three times this week already and its only Thursday. 

Matt’s nice, he seems genuinely interested in Stiles, even though his gaze sometimes lingers a little too long on Stiles’s mouth. It makes him feel uncomfortable sometimes and he wonders if Matt is always like that, or he’s _interested_ in him.   
Not that Stiles would ever contemplate doing anything with anyone who wasn’t Derek. He doesn’t think he has it in him. Not only that Derek would probably rip his throat out for real this time, but its _Derek_. And there’s no way in the world anyone could ever match up to him. Ever.   
“I want you to come home,” Derek says, or rather orders. And Stiles blinks, his hand around the phone tightens.   
“What? No…”   
“Stiles…”Derek interrupts, “they’re in Moreno Valley, I don’t want…”   
“Derek I’m not going to go looking for them and what the hell would they want with me anyway? I’m nothing to them,” he sighs and there’s silence from Derek, the kind that drags and make Stiles’s twitchy with the need to fill it with nonsense.   
“But you’re something to me,” Derek says eventually and Stiles snaps his mouth shut. There’s so much said in those few simple words, so much that Derek probably wouldn’t be able to say face to face,you’re pack, I need you, don’t you fucking dare die on me. Stiles feels a grin creep across his lips.   
“Derek…”   
“Just…”Derek sighs, heavily, and Stiles can practically see him running his hand through his hair, “come home when you can, ok?”   
“Ok,” Stiles replies and then because he’s been holding out and he just has to, he adds, “you want me home because I’m something to you? Derek Hale has actual feelings? Breaking News.”   
He can practically _hear_ the eye roll.   
“Stiles…shut up.” 

…

The following morning Stiles throws his bag into his jeep. 

“You’re going home _again_? Cheekbones must be good,” Cassie waggles her eyebrows at him and Stiles rolls his eyes back at her. 

“Couple of things I need to do, not sure when I am going to back, you’ll be ok without me?” Cassie pouts her lips to one side, taps at her chin and then shoves at his shoulder. 

“I’m good, I managed for 19 years without you…I _think_ I can manage a few days,” Stiles grins at her and pulls her into a hug. 

“Just…” he starts and Cassie frowns, “look after yourself ok?” He’s suddenly worried about leaving her, knowing that the Pack is in Moreno Valley. Cassie doesn’t know anything about this kind of thing, and not that Stiles could help her if she got into trouble, but at least he kind of knows a bit about it. 

“Why am I getting the feeling that you know something I don’t?” 

“Because I know I lot you don’t,” Stiles jokes and Cassie grins. 

“Go, you big idiot, fuck off,” Cassie turns and heads back into the house and Stiles rolls his eyes at her back. 

He’s got a book to check out of the library before he goes so he swings his jeep out of his space and heads towards the place he spends most of his time when he’s at school. 

He finds it calming almost, a place where his head stops buzzing, where he can concentrate and work, and the only other place like it is Derek’s house, resting between Derek’s spread thighs as Derek watches some movie or other, Derek’s fingers playing along the back of Stiles’s neck. Of course, more often than not, that leads to Stiles hauling Derek onto the floor and letting Derek fuck his mouth. 

Stiles shakes his head free of those images, not long now till he sees Derek again, and then he can sink to his knees how many times he wants. 

The library is quiet, obviously, it’s a library, but there aren’t even any hushed whispers and Stiles leans over the desk and around the stalls looking for the Librarian. He frowns. 

“Stiles, hey,” Stiles jumps back, palm against his chest and Matt rubs at the back of his head and grimaces, “sorry.” 

“No…I’m just a bit…” 

“Jumpy?” Matt asks and Stiles nods. 

“Just picking up a book, heading home for the weekend,” Stiles shrugs and shoves his hands into his pockets. Matt cocks his head to the side. 

“The Librarian hasn’t been in since Thursday, she probably hasn’t put the book out for you, let’s go find it,” Matt nods in the direction of the stalls and something makes Stiles hesitate. He doesn’t know if it’s the empty Library, or the fact that the Librarian is _always_ there and now she isn’t, or the slightly wolfish (wrong choice of word perhaps) smile on Matt’s face. “For Mythology right? Come on.” 

Stiles follows Matt through the stalls, around the twists and turns and he glances at his watch. He hasn’t told Derek he was coming home this morning, so he has no time limit, but he just kind of wants to get out of here, back to Derek, where he can pretend that there’s nothing else going on, where he can spend his time curled around Derek, trailing his fingers over skin, or Derek can stay buried inside him, whilst Stiles comes down, Derek’s breath hot against his neck. He suppresses a groan and nearly walks into Matt as he comes to a halt. 

“Right,” Stiles can feel his cheeks flushing and Matt grins knowingly, like he can read Stiles’s mind, “it should be around here somewhere,” Stiles looks and groans when he spies it on the top shelf. 

“Do you go home a lot?” Matt asks as Stiles stands on tiptoes, “I mean, I don’t mean to pry I just…” Stiles stands back down and looks at him, “wanna get to know you.” Matt shrugs and runs his hand through his hair and Stiles feels unease trip down his spine. 

“Matt…”

“I know, you have a boyfriend, I just like hanging out with you,” Matt steps closer, presses himself close to Stiles and reaches up to grab his book, his arm slides across Stiles’s chest. “There.” 

“Thanks,” Stiles mutters as Matt’s fingers slip across his hands. “Um…I should go,” Stiles points behind him with his thumb and Matt, looks dejected, but smiles through it and nods. 

“Ok,” Stiles feels bad, he really does, the guys cute, but suddenly there’s just something about him that makes Stiles uncomfortable, especially in an empty Library. 

There’s also the fact that Derek is the hottest guy ever to walk the face of the planet and would kill him if he ever looked twice at anyone. 

“Hey Stiles?” Matt calls and Stiles looks over his shoulder, “I’ll see you when you get back.” 

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles mutters, and turns in time to miss the slow smile on Matt’s face. 

…

Stiles shakes himself in his jeep, it’s stupid, the creep of shivers across his forearms, and all he wants now is to slide into cool sheets next to Derek’s hot body and not emerge for a good three days. 

Derek’s not waiting for him and his car isn’t there when Stiles pulls into the driveway and he swallows down the sting of disappointment and slides out of his jeep, grabbing his backpack and slamming the door shut. He pushes the front door open and drops his bag, heads up stairs to Derek’s room. It’s always weird being here when Derek isn’t, Stiles feels almost like an intruder, even though there’s one of his old hoodies draped over the chair in Derek’s room, and more of Stiles’s DVD’s downstairs than Derek’s. Even though Derek remembers to buy Cap’t Crunch for Stiles instead of the cardboard he eats himself. 

Stiles sighs, pulls off his hoodie and toes off his shoes, slides in between the sheets and breathes in the scent of Derek from his pillow he hugs against his chest. 

He wakes to the slam of the front door and heavy combat booted steps on the stairs. Derek’s head appears around the door, his face expressionless. Stiles shifts onto his back and stretches as Derek walks over to the bed and sits on the edge. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming home?” he asks and Stiles runs his fingers across the tiny strip of skin of Derek’s back. Derek shifts. 

“I was going to try to surprise you,” he mutters and Derek turns, lies down next to him and Stiles settles down again, head to Derek’s chest. 

“I could have been here,” Derek says, voice rumbling through Stiles’s ear. 

“Doesn’t matter,” Stiles lifts his head and lets his fingers play against the soft fabric of Derek’s t-shirt, “so I wanted to talk to you…” Derek’s eyes narrow in a frown, “I just wanted to say that I love that you wanted me to come home, but I can look after myself, I’ve seen enough werewolves that I’m pretty sure I could pick one out now, I mean you all dress like douches,” Stiles yelps as Derek stabs a finger between his ribs, “ow.” 

“Douches?” Derek’s got an eyebrow arches over one eyes and Stiles shrugs. 

“Kinda…but you get it right? I can take care of myself?”

“You don’t have to take care of yourself. You’re pack Stiles,” Derek sighs and tries to slide out from under Stiles’s grasp. Stiles throws one thigh over him, hands braced either side of Derek’s head. 

“I know, but…will you just trust me to take care of myself?” 

“No,” Derek’s lips twitch at the corner and Stiles narrows his eyes, sits back across Derek’s thighs and crosses his arms. 

“Why not?” 

“Because you’re kind of an idiot,” Derek flips them both and Stiles doesn’t want to even admit the noise that comes out of his mouth as he finds himself flat on his back with Derek looming over him. “I’m glad you’re here,” Derek says in a rare moment of honesty and Stiles blinks. He lifts his hand to Derek’s jeans, pops the button and curls his fingers inside, knuckles pressing to Derek’s skin. 

“I need to be able to look after myself Derek,” Stiles says and Derek presses his lips together. Stiles pushes his hand in further, traces the backs of his fingers over Derek’s dick and Derek’s hips arch forward. “Because what if you’re not there?” 

“I will be,” Derek mutters and runs his hands up under Stiles’s t-shirt, palms hot against his ribs. 

“But what if you’re not?” Stiles asks and Derek shifts back and lowers his head to Stiles’s stomach, runs his nose along the line of hair and swirls his tongue around Stiles’s navel. 

“I will…” he starts and Stiles winds his hands into Derek’s hair, tugs and Derek looks up at him. 

“But what if you’re not?” Derek doesn’t answer, crawls upwards, settles on top of Stiles, slotting their hips together and kisses him, tongue sliding along his lips before licking into his mouth and Stiles groans, shifting his hips under Derek’s, wrapping one leg around him. 

“Sex in the middle of the day Stiles?” Derek asks, trailing his fingers down Stiles’s side. 

“Remember that weekend we spent in bed?” Stiles questions, scratching his nails across Derek’s back. Derek hisses and drives his hips down. “I don’t remember you complaining about sex in the middle of the day then, especially not when I…” Derek cuts him off with a growl and a kiss and his hand down Stiles’s jean. Stiles moans into his mouth, fucking himself into Derek’s slightly awkward grip. 

“Remember how many times I fucked you that weekend?” Derek growls against Stiles’s lips and Stiles’s breath hitches. It’s so unlike Derek to talk dirty, to use words to drive Stiles crazy. 

“Four,” Stiles answers and Derek’s grip tightens around him and he bites down on Stiles’s bottom lip. 

“Five,” Derek corrects, thumb sliding through the precome on Stiles’s dick and Stiles jerks, hands slipping against Derek’s skin. 

“Fuck,” Derek mouths at his throat, teeth scraping along the skin, sucks a bruise onto Stiles’s neck as he twists his hand and Stiles comes, Derek’s stubble leaving an almost stinging trail across his skin, “not that I’m complaining,” he mutters as Derek pulls his hand out from his pants, “but that wasn’t actual sex.” 

Derek huffs out a laugh, pushes himself up and arches an eyebrow at him. 

“What would you call it?” 

“Foreplay,” Derek laughs again as he stands and Stiles has to admit he loves the sound. 

“Sex later,” Derek points at him and begins to walk out. 

“You promise?” Stiles call after him, hauling his hoodie over his head and racing after Derek in sticky jeans. 

Stiles sometimes forgets how quickly Derek can move, and he’s already hauling things out of his car when Stiles makes it downstairs. Stiles leans against the doorframe and watches as Derek pulls out grocery bags and lifts them all at once, makes his way back to the house. Derek leans in and plants a kiss on Stiles’s mouth as he walks past and Stiles is quick enough to catch the way his nostrils flare and his eyes darken. 

“What?” Derek’s eyes narrow and then he’s smiles, weakly, like he’s forgotten that Stiles knows him and can read his expressions. 

“Nothing,” Derek moves away, towards the kitchen and Stiles follows. 

“No you did the whole wolf thing, what?” Derek slams the bags down onto the table and turns. His expression is blank, but artistically so and Stiles frowns. 

“You smell…” he starts and Stiles rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah and who’s fault is that, making me come on my jeans…jeez. I’ll go shower,” he grumbles and stomps upstairs. 

…

“Yeah I know…” Derek sighs and Stiles pauses at the bottom of the stairs, “Just…yeah ok…thanks,” Derek sighs again and Stiles hear him slam his phone onto the counter. 

“Who was that?” he asks as he steps into the kitchen and Derek smiles at him, tugs him closer and runs his nose up the side of his neck. Stiles’s hair is still damp, his clean t-shirt clinging slightly to his skin and Derek hums. 

“No one…much better,” he mumbles and Stiles feels the counter dig into his back. 

“Well I’m glad you approve,” he quips. Derek lifts his head and cups his hands around Stiles’s face, thumbs sliding over his cheekbones. 

“I approve,” his voice is quiet, meaningful, his eyes serious and Stiles frowns, his fingers curling into Derek’s belt, tugging him closer. 

“Ok, what’s going on?” Derek shakes his head, presses his forehead to Stiles’s and breathes in. “Derek you’re kinda freaking me out.” Derek slides his hands down Stiles neck, presses his thumbs under his chin and tilts his head back, licks a line up the centre of Stiles’s throat. He nips at his chin, licks across Stiles’s lips, rubs his cheek across Stiles’s, the rasp of stubble almost burning. “Derek.” 

“Shhh,” Derek hushes him, breath hot in Stiles’s ear, and he flicks his tongue against the shell. Stiles shivers, moves his hips lazily into Derek’s and Derek’s hands run down his chest and clamp around his hips. His hands are hot, always so hot, nails digging in slightly and the thought that Derek’s wolf could get the better of him and hurt Stiles never occurs to him, it should, but Derek makes him feel safe, not in danger. Derek runs his hands up, under Stiles’s t-shirt, steps back enough to pull it off and then his own, and then its skin against skin. Derek trails one hand down Stiles’s spine, gently, just a brush of fingers, the other hand follows and Stiles groans, arches his back. Derek’s fingers skim around Stiles’s waist, palms flat against his chest as they travel back up, across his collar bones where he leans down and nips at the skin gently, hands trailing down Stiles arms, fingers twining together and Derek lifts their hands, presses Stiles’s into the cabinet behind him. He doesn’t have to tell Stiles to keep them there, Stiles gets it by the gentle squeeze around his wrists and the dark look in Derek’s eyes. He nods and Derek’s presses a kiss to the hollow at the base of Stiles’s throat. 

“I thought you said sex later?” Stiles mutters as Derek’s lips slip across his skin, teeth scraping across his collar bone again. 

“Well I have the urge to remind you that you’re mine,” Derek replies quietly, thoughtfully, sinking lower and swirling his tongue around one of Stiles’s nipple. 

“Possessive much?” Stiles gasps as Derek’s teeth close around it, groans and flexes his fingers, wishes he could dive them into Derek’s hair and just hold on. 

“Complaining?” Derek lifts his head and arches an eyebrow, but its forced, this playfulness and Stiles makes a mental note to get what’s bothering him out of him later. He’s usually more agreeable after Stiles has sucked his brain out through his dick. 

“Hell no,” he shakes his head and Derek sinks to his knees, kissing down the line of hair on Stiles’s stomach. He drags his teeth over Stiles’s hip bones, fingers working the button of his jeans undone and then he slides them down Stiles’s thighs, hands skimming over his skin as Stiles tries to keep himself still and keep his hands pressed to the cabinet. His twitches his hips forward as Derek leans closer and runs his nose up the length of Stiles’s cotton covered dick. Stiles jerks, lets out a string of curses, Derek’s hand running up Stiles’s left calf, his other winding around Stiles’s ankle like a shackle. 

And that thought goes straight to Stiles’s dick. 

He whines as Derek mouths at his dick through his boxers.

“Ok, change of plan,” Derek says suddenly standing up and Stiles lets his mouth hang open.

“Wait what? What the hell is wrong with you? You can’t do that to someone, that’s just mean and cruel and nfgh…” Derek kisses him hard.

“Training.” 

“You cannot be serious? Now? After that? You want me to concentrate on anything other than the fact that my dick is trying to break its way out of my boxers and I want you to fuck me through the mattress?” Stiles whines and Derek’s lips curl at the corners. 

“Trust me,” he reaches into a draw by the side of Stiles and pulls out one of the blindfolds he used to train Stiles in the wood. Stiles’s heart skips and Derek’s head cocks to the side like he’s listening to it. Arousal kicks up a notch, speeding down Stiles’s spine to pool low in his belly. Derek presses forward, trails his fingers across the taught skin of Stiles’s stomach and reaches up and covers Stiles’s eyes with the smooth material. Stiles’s breath catches in his throat as Derek ties it behind his head, runs his fingers down the side of Stiles’s neck. Stiles cant speak, he wants to, wants to argue with Derek, ask him what the hell he’s doing because they don’t do this intense thing, wants to babble about how much he just fucking loves Derek right now, wants to tell Derek how much he trusts him and Derek could tie him upside down by his toes and leave him there for three days and Stiles would be ok with it because it’s Derek. Derek knows what he’s doing, everything he does has a purpose. But he can’t speak and Derek leans forward and presses his lips to Stiles’s. “Where am I touching you?” Derek asks and winds his fingers around Stiles’s wrists. 

“Wrists,” Stiles answers immediately and Derek hums in the back of his throat, “I don’t see how this is training.”

“Shut up,” Derek snaps, sliding his hands down Stiles’s arms, “where now?” 

“Shoulders,” Derek’s fingers dig into the hollows by his collar bones.

“Good…” he hands leave his skin, “now?” 

“You’re not…”

“Concentrate Stiles, you’re relying too much on touch, _think_ ,” Derek pokes him in the forehead and Stiles resists the urge to rip the blindfold off. He drags in a deep breath, “where are my hands?” Stiles relaxes, leans his head back against the cabinet, the edge of the counter digging into his back and concentrates on his skin, the feel of it, the ghost of Derek’s touch along his arms. There’s a point of heat by Stiles’s side, on his right, like he’s standing next to a flame. 

“Right side,” Derek lets out a pleased noise and lets his hand touch Stiles, pets along his ribs, splays his fingers out between them. 

“Again,” Stiles takes a deep breath, breathes in the scent of Derek and concentrates, zeroes in on the point of heat on his left thigh. 

“Left thigh,” Derek’s hand connects with his skin, hot and solid, a light smack that sounds worse than it is in the otherwise quiet kitchen. He slides Stiles’s boxers down and taps at his ankle to get Stiles to step out of them. 

“Again,” Derek breathes out across Stiles’s dick.

“I…”

“Again, Stiles,” Derek breathes out again, blows a stream of air across the tip of Stiles’s dick and Stiles shudders, tries to pinpoint the heat anywhere on his skin. 

“Left hip,” Stiles blurts and Derek drags his nails across the skin there.

“Good,” Derek hums and runs his thumbs across both hip bones. Stiles is painfully hard, and Derek blows against the tip again. “Being faster and stronger isn’t the only thing they’ll use to their advantage,” Derek says conversationally, _finally_ curling his fingers around Stiles’s dick. Stiles jerks, and Derek’s hand clamps around his hip. “Stay still…they’ll use their better eyesight and you need to be able to _feel_ where they’re coming from,” Derek continues, “they’re hunters, Stiles, predators,” Stiles jerks his hips again, tries to get Derek’s hand to move and Derek tightens his grip around his hip, nails digging in, “every move you make, makes a noise, they hear better than you…stay _still_.” There’s a hint of anger in Derek’s voice, desperate anger and Stiles frowns behind his blindfold.

Stiles whines and Derek leans forward and nips at his hip bone again, tongue darting out to soothe the skin. He moves, stands, slides his body against Stiles’s, every inch touching him and Derek sucks one of Stiles’s nipples again, his hands touching every bit of Stiles’s body he can reach. Stiles moans, his muscles trembling with the effort to stay still. He’s blood pounds in his head, Derek’s words echoing in his ear, the angry, worried tone of them. Derek’s breath brushes against his lips and Stiles parts them, dart his tongue out to wet the bottom one and Derek leans forward enough to kiss him hard. 

“They’re there,” he growls, low and dangers, hands sliding up Stiles’s arms, “they’re in your town, and they could be anyone.”

“Derek,” Derek’s hands curls around his wrists, thumbs brushing over his pulse. 

“Turn around,” Stiles does it without thinking and Derek loosens his grip around his wrists, plants his hands on the counter top and runs his own down Stiles’s spine. Stiles arches into the touch and Derek’s fingers slides between his ass cheeks, a slight point of pressure that has Stiles pushing back against it. “Still.” 

Stiles whines again but stays stills as he hears Derek undoing his own jeans and sliding them down his thighs. 

“Do you get it?” Derek asks as Stiles hears the rip of foil and the snap of a condom.

“I get it,” Derek’s hand grips at his hip, there’s a click of the lid on a bottle of lube and then a cool fingers slides into his body. “Shit.” Derek fucks him slow, with one finger, then another, finally three, until Stiles is sure he’s about to die, it’s too much, not seeing Derek, concentrating on his other senses, feeling everything Derek’s doing and Stiles knows this is why Derek’s doing this, he just can’t take much more. “Fuck Derek…please.”

And then Derek’s pushing in, all the way in, in one fluid movement and Stiles thinks that maybe he might pass out. Derek drops his head to Stiles’s shoulder blades, presses his lips to the skin and pulls out, almost all the way, slams back in and Stiles’s arms give out. He pillows his head on his arms, and Derek fucks him slow, deep, hard, hitting that spot inside Stiles with every thrust. It doesn’t take long, Stiles is too strung out from _training_ and before he knows it, Derek’s winding a hand around him and curling his fingers around Stiles’s dick and Stiles is letting out a string of curses and coming over Derek’s hand. 

Derek grunts, pulls out, pushes back in hard and comes buried so far inside Stiles he’d swear he felt it. 

“You know I bitch about training?” Stiles mutters and Derek pulls out of him and unties the blindfold, spinning Stiles around. Stiles blinks in the light and grins up at Derek. “You can train me like that any day.” 

Derek runs his thumb across Stiles’s bottom lip and his eyes darken. 

“Food…” he mutters, “then we’re going upstairs and I’m not letting you out of bed until tomorrow…got it?” Stiles’s stomach twists. 

“Got it.” 

…

Derek’s true to his word and doesn’t let Stiles out of bed until Saturday evening, and only then because his dad’s called three times. Stiles is beginning to think that he’s getting bed sores. 

Derek’s been handsy, touching Stiles’s skin every where he can, running his cheeks along Stiles’s inner thighs, letting his tongue draw lazy patterns across the dimples in Stiles’s lower back. And Stiles has come more times that he can count, the last being little more than a judder of limbs, because he’s empty, spent, and beyond sated. 

He wakes some time in the early evening to an empty bed and stretches his used muscles, grimacing. He rubs his hands over his face and smells Derek. 

His t-shirt’s no where to be seen and Stiles frowns, pulls his jeans on and stumbles downstairs to the kitchen. Derek’s sitting at the table papers circled around him and he looks up as Stiles leans against the door frame. He’s caught him off guard, immersed in research of this other pack probably, and Stiles can see the lost look on his face. He sometimes forgets that Derek isn’t always the self assured Alpha that he seems to be in front of the pack, that he lost his entire family at a young age, that he became an Alpha after killing his own uncle, because he had to. His face changes in an instant though, the lost look melting away and there’s a brief smile. 

“You ok?” Stiles asks and Derek spins his chair out from the table and nods. 

“Good,” he answers as Stiles pushes himself off the door frame and walks to the fridge, dropping a kiss on Derek’s head as he passes. 

“Nice t-shirt,” Stiles quips and Derek runs his hand down the material, smiling slightly. It’s too small by a long shot, stretched across the shoulders and around the tops of Derek’s arms and Stiles knows there will be a strip of skin at the bottom between the hem and Derek’s jeans. It looks good on him though, in an almost obscene way. 

“Couldn’t find my own,” Derek mutters and Stiles grabs a bottle of water from the fridge and swallows half of it, runs his arm across his mouth. 

“Yeah…right,” Stiles rolls his eyes and crawls into Derek’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. Derek raises an eyebrow but his fingers play along the skin of Stiles’s back, “just admit it, it’s your possessive nature coming through, making me want to smell like you, so _alllllllll_ the other little werewolves will know I’m yours” Stiles taps the end of Derek’s nose with his finger and Derek growls. “Now now, Grumplestilskin.” Stiles kisses him, soundly on the lips and Derek’s glaring as he pulls back, “don’t glare, you’ll get wrinkles,” Stiles smoothes out the lines on his forehead with his fingers. 

“God you’re impossible,” Derek grumbles, swatting his hand away and Stiles grins, wriggles in Derek’s lap. 

“Impossible not to love,” he replies and Derek rolls his eyes, “right,” Stiles gets off Derek’s lap and grins internally at the way Derek’s hands twitch like he wants to pull him back, “I gotta go home,” he stretches and Derek pokes him in the stomach with his finger, “ok uncalled for.” 

“Get out of my house,” Derek grumbles and Stiles leans down, presses a kiss to his temple. Derek leans into his slightly and Stiles smiles against his skin. 

“I’ll call you later.” 

…

Although his dad has never actually come out and said it, like with actual words, Stiles is pretty sure he knows what’s going on between him and Derek. Especially if the way he’s constantly rolling his eyes at the love bites on Stiles’s neck is anything to go by. 

His dad’s fine though, doesn’t ask questions, just pats Stiles on the shoulder in a way that Stiles knows means “I love you and am proud of you.”

The Sheriff is standing in the kitchen looking like he’s going to vomit when Stiles gets back. 

“You ok?” His dad turns, runs a hand down his front and holds his arms out. 

“Do I look ok?” That’s when Stiles notices the shirt, the smart jacket, clean slacks and he blinks. 

“You going out?” His dad looks slightly embarrassed and more than a little nervous. 

“I um…I’m having dinner…with a friend,” his dad deflects and turns back to the counter where Stiles notices the glass of whiskey. 

“Is this friend of the female variety?” his dad looks at him, “or male? I mean, I’m not judging,” Stiles holds his hands out and his dad rolls his eyes. 

“Female,” he confirms and Stiles feels a smile spread across his face. It’s been too long, his dad has been mourning his mom for too long. And his mom may have been the love of his dad’s life, but Stiles gets it, he can’t be alone forever. He remembers trying to set up his dad with his middle school Math teacher once, him and Scott didn’t get very far with that. His dad shrugs, straightens out his tie and Stiles takes a step towards him, tidies the back of his jacket collar and pats his lapels.

“You look great, for an old man,” he dodges the back hand his dad aims at his head and laughs. “Knock ‘em dead dad, but not literally dead, because that would be embarrassing…Local Sheriff Arrested For Murder,” Stiles swipes his hand out in front of him and his dad sighs. 

“This is ok right?” Stiles cocks his head to the side. 

“The jacket?” 

“No…” His dad sighs and Stiles claps him on the shoulders. 

“It’s about time dad.” His dad smiles, slowly, and Stiles grins back. His dad steps away and runs a hand over his hair. 

“I don’t think I remember how to do this,” he says and Stiles groans, mimics shoving his fingers down his throat. 

“Gross.” 

“Not that you delinquent,” his dad sighs, but there’s grin on his face and Stiles laughs. It’s good to see his dad happy, worried about dating, but happy. It’s been a while, maybe even before his mom died and Stiles thinks smiling like that really suits him. 

“Dad, you’ll be fine, go please, before you inadvertently give me more information than my young innocent mind can handle,” he shudders and his dad clips him round the back of his head, grabs his wallet and keys. 

“Innocent my ass,” he mutters and Stiles sticks his tongue out at his retreating back. 

“Have fun!” He calls as the front door slams. 

…

He kind of wants nothing more than to drive back to Derek’s, but he honestly doesn’t think his body could take it, so he pulls some Hot Pockets out of the freezer and calls Scott. 

Scott’s blissfully not busy, his mom’s out and Allison is having family night with her scary ass, hunter family (seriously, Mrs Argent scares the crap out of Stiles…still). 

Scott’s car squeaks to a halt outside Stiles’s house 20 minutes later as Stiles is burning the roof of his mouth on a Hot Pocket. Scott lets himself in and rolls his eyes as Stiles downs a glass of ice water. 

“Jesus,” Scott laughs and takes a Hot Pocket Stiles holds out to him, “does your werewolf abilities mean that you have like an asbestos lined mouth?” Stiles asks as Scott wolves (no pun intended) it down in two bites. Scott shrugs. “So is your mom working?” 

“No she’s out with a friend, I think it was a date though,” Scott says thoughtfully and Stiles stop mid step towards the fridge. 

“She’s out on a date?” 

“Yeah, I think…” 

“Huh,” Scott’s mom and his dad. The thought, funnily enough, doesn’t repulse him. They are both grown adults, and probably due to the amount of sex Stiles is having, he doesn’t care that other people are having it. Oh no…Stiles feels a coil in his stomach, no there’s the revulsion. Gross. 

“What?” Scott asks and throws a confused look at Stiles. It amuses Stiles sometimes, how much gets past Scott. 

“Oh nothing.” 

…

“I think my dad’s dating Scott’s mom,” Derek’s fingers are winding into Stiles’s longer hair, his nails scratching across Stiles’s scalp and Stiles’s got his arms resting on Derek’s knees. 

“Hmmm,” Derek hums absently, his eyes fixed on the book to his right. His hand doesn’t stop moving though and Stiles leans into the touch, some part of him hating to admit that he likes the petting. 

“I’m thinking of dating Scott’s mom,” he says, leaning his head back and looking up at Derek. Derek’s eyes flick to his. 

“What?” 

“Are you even listening to me?” Stiles asks and Derek leans down, presses a kiss to his forehead. 

“I try not to most of the time,” Derek smiles, and it looks weird upside down, but Stiles’s chest does the usual tightening thing it does whenever Derek smiles at him. He’s seemed more relaxed since Stiles came back from his dad’s, more…calm. None of the frantic touching from the day before, but just gentle touches, that leave Stiles’s skin aching for more. 

“Rude,” Stiles mutters as Derek’s fingers slide down the back of his neck. 

“When are you going back?” Derek murmurs and Stiles hops up onto his knees and turns, faces Derek, slides his hands up Derek’s thighs. The muscles twitch under his hands but Derek’s face remains expressionless. Even so Stiles can still see the way his eyes darken. Derek leans back against the couch, shifts lower and spreads his thighs. 

“Probably Tuesday,” Stiles mutters thoughtfully, his mind on getting Derek out of his jeans rather than the casual small talk he seems to like to make when Stiles is concentrating on getting him naked. 

“Why?” Derek asks as Stiles runs his hands up Derek’s chest under his t-shirt. Derek lifts a hand and traces his index finger over Stiles’s face. Stiles is so familiar with the action he knows that Derek is playing connect the dots with Stiles’s moles. He turns his head into the touch and lets out a small noise on contentment. 

“Because I have work to do,” he mumbles and Derek curls his finger under Stiles’s chin, lifts his face upwards and Stiles opens the eyes he doesn’t remember closing and swallows against Derek’s fingers. 

“Ok,” Derek replies and puts the pad of his thumb into the curve under Stiles’s lips. 

“Ok?” Stiles raises an eyebrow. “Ok? What no fighting? No ‘no Stiles you must stay?” Stiles lowers his voice to mimic Derek’s and Derek raises his own eyebrow back at him. 

“Do you want me to fight you?” Derek lifts his other hand and runs his thumbs across Stiles’s cheekbones. 

“No,” Stiles admits, curling his fingers into Derek’s waist band and tugging him further down. He lets out a little puff of air as he moves and Stiles gets his hands around the button on Derek’s jeans and pops it open. 

“Ok then,” Derek says, voice low as Stiles tugs his jeans down this thighs. He sits back against his calves and tugs off Derek’s combat boots, pulling his lip between his teeth as he throws them one by one over his shoulder and Derek sighs. 

“You’re about to get a blow job and you’re complaining about the mess?” Stiles asks with a quirk of his eyebrow and tugs Derek’s jeans all the way off, throws them over his shoulder to join the boots. 

“You drive me crazy,” Derek replies, long sufferingly and Stiles grins at him before leaning down and pressing his mouth to Derek’s boxers. Derek’s breathing hitches, his fingers curling into Stiles’s hair. 

Stiles may not have Derek’s sense of smell, but he can still smell Derek’s arousal already and he licks at the cotton covering the head of Derek’s dick, tastes, very faintly, pre come and groans in the back of his throat as Derek’s fingers tighten. He goes on like that for a while, teasing Derek through his boxers until the cotton is soaked with pre come and spit and Derek’s fingers are just this side of painful and his breathing is ragged. Stiles pulls away, curls his fingers into the elastic of Derek’s boxers and pulls them down slowly, until Derek’s dick springs upwards, hard and ready and Stiles’s mouth waters. He loves giving this to Derek, because Derek gives him everything he has, everything he is. Stiles leans back down, sucks the head of Derek’s dick into his mouth and Derek gasps, pushes his hips upwards, his dick sliding between Stiles’s lips. Stiles hums, sinks down the last few inches, all the way until his nose is pressed to Derek’s stomach and Derek groans. 

Apparently, Stiles was born for sucking dick because, hello, no gag reflex. 

It comes in handy because Derek’s dick hits the back of his throat. Stiles hums again, slides his mouth back up, presses his tongue to the slit in Derek’s dick and Derek curses softly under his breath as Stiles looks up at him.

He sinks back down again, keeps his eyes on Derek as long as he can and sees a flash of red and swallows around him. Derek pushes his hips upwards, fucks his dick into Stiles’s mouth and Stiles just takes it all, because its Derek, relaxes his throat and takes it. Derek’s fingers tighten in his hair, tugging at the short strands but Stiles curls his hands around Derek’s hips and holds on as Derek grunts, curses and comes down Stiles’s throat. 

Stiles swallows everything, leans back and swipes his thumb across his bottom lip. 

Derek groans, hauls Stiles forward and licks the taste of himself out of Stiles’s mouth. He slides his lips down Stiles’s jaw, rubs his cheek against Stiles’s, pulls his ear lobe between his teeth. 

“So what do you think?” Stiles mutters as Derek rubs his cheek against Stiles’s again. Derek pulls back. 

“About what?” Derek runs the inside of his wrist over Stiles’s shoulder and down his arm, curls their fingers together and lifts their hands to his mouth, presses Stiles’s knuckles to his lip. 

“About my dad…”

“Really? You want to talk about your dad with the taste of me still in your mouth?” Derek’s thumb slides between his lips. Stiles groans around it and sucks hard and Derek’s eyes flutter closed. Derek pulls it out, runs it wet down Stiles’s chin. 

“I just…” 

“Come here,” Derek mutters and Stiles clambers onto the couch. Derek slides his legs up onto the couch, pulls Stiles down till his heads pillowed on Derek’s chest. His fingers run through Stiles’s hair. This is their talking position, because Derek only opens up when Stiles isn’t looking at him, when Stiles can’t read the bone deep hurt on his face, the guilt at losing his family, about killing Peter, the fact that he so stupidly young. Stiles buries his head into Derek’s t-shirt, because although he can look at Derek, he gets what Derek’s doing, Derek making himself available. Derek’s doing what he likes when he needs to talk because he doesn’t know any other way and Stiles falls in love that little bit more. 

“It’s ok right? I mean, mom’s been gone for a while now, and dad needs someone…” Stiles starts, answering his own initial question and Derek’s fingers run along his scalp.

“He has you,” Derek says quietly, playing the Devil’s Advocate. Stiles sighs and draws a spiral on Derek’s chest. 

“I know,” Stiles rubs his cheek across the soft cotton of Derek’s shirt. 

“But maybe he needs more than that?” Derek asks and Stiles nods. 

“Yeah, I mean how lonely must he be? He’s done nothing except work and look after me since she died and he’s had nothing back but a town full of werewolves and a slightly delinquent son,” Stiles lets out a self depreciating laugh and Derek’s arm tightens around him. 

“I wouldn’t say that,” he mutters, “it’s not _full_ of werewolves,” Stiles pokes him in the ribs and lifts his head. Derek’s smiling at him and he runs the backs of his fingers across Stiles’s cheek. Stiles lies back down, shifts, throws a thigh over Derek’s and Derek drops his lips to the top of his head. “I think you have your answer,” Derek says, his voice vibrating against Stiles’s scalp. He hums quietly and slides his hand up Derek’s side under his shirt, feels the muscles twitch under his palm. 

“It’s alright, it’s good,” he says and he feels Derek nod. 

“Plus, it was only a matter of time, your dad’s a good looking man,” Stiles nearly chokes on his own tongue and lifts his head up again. 

“What?”

“He’s a good looking man,” Derek says again, with a shrug of his shoulders and no hint of a smile anywhere on his face or in his eyes. 

“Again…what?” 

“Oh Jesus Stiles, your face,” Derek bends nearly double, narrowly avoids kneeing Stiles in the back of his head as he spits out a bark of laughter that sounds, for once, completely and utterly genuine and Stiles, even though he’s getting over his initial shock of “my god my boyfriend thinks my dad is hot” he grins back at him. 

“You bastard,” he mutters and digs his fingers into the spaces between Derek’s ribs. Derek lets out a noise that’s crossed between a howl of pain and a laugh, “for a moment there I thought you were using me to get to my dad,” Derek laughs again and hauls Stiles down to him, fist curled into Stiles’s shirt. 

“I already have one Stillinski,” he says, breathless and amused but his voice lowers, “I don’t think I could handle another.” 

“Oh he’s better than me,” Stiles replies and Derek lets out a snort, somehow manages to turn them both on the couch until he’s pressing Stiles into the cushions without tipping them both onto the floor. 

“I don’t think anyone is.” 

…

Sometime on Monday night, although it could be Tuesday morning, Stiles wakes to Derek’s hands on him, the gentle touches that makes his skin burn, the slight drag of nails across his back, the swirl of Derek’s tongue against the curve of his buttocks and Stiles shifts, slowly, into wakefulness. 

It’s almost not sexual, the way Derek’s touching him. It’s almost like he’s mapping out Stiles’s skin in his mind, almost like he’s trying to remind himself what Stiles feels like under his fingertips. Stiles shifts and Derek’s thumbs press in gently to the dimples at the base of Stiles’s back. 

“What are you doing?” Stiles mutters, face smashed into the pillow, his voice croaky and thick with sleep. 

“Ssshh,” Derek hushes, like it’s a secret and nudges Stiles’s thighs further apart, settling himself between them and skimming his hot burning palms across the tender skin of his inner thighs. His thumbs run along the creases under his ass, where his thighs join and Stiles shifts again, groans as one thumb slips between his ass cheeks. “You know,” Derek mutters, conversationally, but his voice still quiet in the dark of the room, Stiles slips his eyes shut and focuses on the feel of Derek’s hands on him, “I love you like this,” Stiles hums as Derek’s thumb pushes against his hole, “quiet…for once,” Derek lets out a small sound like a laugh, “still…mine.” 

It shocks Stiles how much he loves it when Derek says that word, _mine_ , bitten off against Stiles’s neck as he comes deep inside him, muttered against Stiles’s lips in their more quiet moments, murmured against Stiles’s hair as Stiles drifts to sleep with Derek’s chest under his cheek. It makes heat bloom in his chest, when it should make him feel suffocated. 

“Say it Stiles,” Derek says, low and dangerous, his thumb pressing in all the way, a dull ache, and then he leans down and licks at the skin where it’s stretched around his thumb. 

“Yours,” Stiles gasps out. His skin feels too small, itchy and he twists, presses back against Derek’s tongue, Derek’s thumb, _Derek_. And it’s true, he is Derek’s, feels like he’s been Derek’s since he first saw in the woods all those years ago. 

Derek moves, crawls upwards and covers Stiles’s back with his body, pushing Stiles’s thighs wider with his knees, his dick slides between Stiles’s ass cheeks and Derek’s breath is hot against his ear. Derek slips inside, pushes all the way in with a low growl and Stiles rises his hips backwards to meet him. 

“Stiles,” Derek groans, curling his fingers around Stiles’s and pressing their hands into the mattress. “Stiles…don’t…” Derek bites off, pulling all the way out and pushing back in again and Stiles, despite the one word, knows what Derek’s trying to say, there’s a pleading in his voice and the way he’s been moody all weekend, touching Stiles like he’s trying to remember him, Stiles gets it. With a sudden cold clarity Stiles gets it. Derek thinks Stiles is going to leave him. 

Stiles tightens his grip around Derek’s fingers, “I wont.” 

…

Stiles is miserable. Well not miserable per se, more like…despondent. He spent too long with Derek and now he hates not being there. It’s pathetic really, bordering on obsessive, and he would be worried if he didn’t know Derek felt exactly the same way. 

His skin still smells like Derek, which is weird, considering the first thing he did on Tuesday was jump in the shower. But even Cassie had wrinkled her nose and sniffed at his shirt and asked if he had changed aftershave. It’s not just his skin though, its his shirts too. The one that Derek wore, and even though it probably could do with a wash, Stiles cant really bring himself to do it, not when he slips it over his head and calls Derek, lying on his side with the phone under his ear and Derek’s scent all around him. 

But yes, he’s despondent, moping around and Cassie has dragged him out for coffee because he was beginning to behave like “a love sick pre-pubescent girl who’s realised her celebrity crush will never actually love her the way she loves him”. Cassie’s words. 

Cassie’s flirting with the Barista though which leaves Stiles drawing the shape of Derek’s tattoo (see? Pathetic) into the foam on his girly latte, remembering the way the skin feels under his fingertips, the twitch of muscles when he laughs when Stiles presses his nails in. He shakes his head, nods in the direction of the bathroom when Cassie flicks her gaze at him, she shrugs her “whatever” shrug and Stiles’s chair squeaks as he pushes it across the floor. 

He’s washing his hands when a shadow falls across the sink. 

“Hey,” Matt grins, and Stiles swallows uneasily, “you’re back.” 

“Yup…back, totally back, back in town, back in the hood,” Stiles fiddles with the tap, his wet hands slipping off it and Matt reaches out and covers Stiles’s hand with his own and turns the tap. 

“Did you have a good time?” Matt asks and Stiles swallows again, slides his hand out from under Matt’s and shoves them both into his pockets. 

“Yeah, great, lovely, thanks,” Matt takes a step forward. 

“Do I make you nervous Stiles?” Matt leans forward and a frown passes over his face as his nostrils twitch. Stiles’s stomach twists with sick realisation, “you smell like…”

“Oh my God, you’re a werewolf,” Stiles blurts and Matt’s face drains of colour. He steps back and forces out an incredulous laugh. 

“What? Stiles, werewolves don’t exist,” he says and rubs the back of his neck. Stiles narrows his eyes, all nerves gone as Matt looks as nervous as he felt. 

“Hey, I live in Beacon Hills buddy, we have our very own pack, sometimes even more than one, I know a werewolf when they do that creepy nostril thing,” Stiles gestures at Matt’s nose. 

“I…” 

“My boyfriend is an Alpha,” Stiles says and then bites on his bottom lip as Matt’s eyes flash blue. The cold icy blue that Derek’s used to. 

“No wonder you smell like Alpha then,” Matt says and Stiles shrugs. 

“Yeah well, he likes to wear my shirts,” Matt cocks his head to the side and Stiles wonders why the hell he’s not nervous anymore, why the fact that he knows Matt is a werewolf has taken all the creepiness, the uncomfortable feeling, the unease out of him. 

“No it’s more than that,” Matt says with a frown. Stiles doesn’t have time to analyse that statement before the fear is kicking up a notch again and Stiles presses himself back against the wall and looks warily at Matt. 

“Hey I thought you were dangerous?” he says reaching into his pocket for the tiny silver knife Allison gave him. Pushed into his hands and made him promise he would always keep on him. 

“What?” Matt looks genuinely confused. 

“Derek said you were dangerous,” Stiles says, more dangerous than Derek and his pack. And his pack had all tried to kill Stiles once in their lives, Erica still looks at Stiles like she would if Derek asked her too. 

“Derek probably didn’t want you out of his sight…I know I wouldn’t,” Matt replies, cocking his head to the side and dragging his eyes up and down Stiles’s body. 

“So you’re not?” Stiles still has his fingers curled around the tiny knife in his pocket and Matt narrows his eyes slightly. 

“We’re all dangerous Stiles, you out of anyone should know that,” Matt takes a step forward and Stiles swallows hard. Matt’s eyes flicked down to Stiles’s mouth as he darts his tongue out to wet the bottom one, “but we’re just passing through,” Matt shrugs, “and honestly Stiles, I did…want to get to know you,” he steps forward and Stiles presses himself further into the wall. 

What is it about him and pushy werewolves? 

“I thought you went here?” he says, sliding down the wall and slipping under Matt’s braced arm. 

“Good cover huh?” he grins lopsidedly. Stiles runs his hand over his hair, catches a hint of Derek still on his skin. 

“Wait…what did you mean it was more than just him wearing my shirts?” Matt looks uncomfortable, narrows his eyes at Stiles and breathes in. 

“You smell like Alpha,” he says. 

“You said that already,” Stiles replies. 

“But its more than that…”

“You said _that_ already,” Stiles pushes, because there’s something niggling at the back of his mind, something he feels he should know, or perhaps something that he once knew and forgot. 

“You smell like mate…not _my_ mate, but like…you’ve been claimed…marked…” Matt says. 

“What?” Stiles’s stomach twists.

“We may fuck around but we mate for life, you smell like mate,” Matt says again, cocking his head to the side and wrinkling his nose slightly.

“No I got that but what? I’ve been… _claimed_?” There’s a sick thrill in Stiles’s stomach, the coiling low in his belly, an almost primal thrill at being claimed, practically belonging to Derek. But Derek did this because he didn’t trust Stiles, even after Stiles made him promise to trust him, Derek didn’t believe him. Even after Stiles has saved every single member of Derek’s pack, individually and as a whole, Derek still thinks of Stiles as a needy, pathetic human. His blood boils under his skin. 

“He’s warning others like me off you. You didn’t know?” 

“That son of bitch.” 

…

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Derek’s front door bangs on his hinges as Stiles throws it open. Derek’s standing at the top of the stairs, his face a mixture of surprise and amusement, a hint of fondness. 

“Hi Stiles,” he says gently and Stiles curls his fingers around the stair rail. 

“You _claimed_ me?” Even from this distance Stiles can see the emotions flit across Derek’s face. Stiles closes his eyes, shakes his head and looks up to find Derek right in front of him, nothing showing on his blank face, his dark eyes masked. 

“And?” There’s such a challenge in his tone, and Stiles takes a step back, because he can feel the heat coming off Derek in waves and he does not need to be distracted right now by the way his shirt fits across his chest. He snaps his gaze back up to Derek’s.

“And I asked you to trust that I could look after myself, yet you basically go and pee on me to tell everyone I’m yours?” He can feel anger boiling through his blood, his skin flushing around his neck, creeping up his throat. Derek cocks his head to the side. 

“You knew what I was doing, you said it yourself,” he says and Stiles throws his hands in the air. 

“I was joking,” he cries and Derek’s face darkens. 

“I wasn’t,” he says low and quiet, reaches out and curls his fingers around Stiles’s arms. “This isn’t a joke to me Stiles,” he says, voice louder now, and he shakes Stiles gently, “ _you_ aren’t a joke to me,” there’s so much that Stiles wants to hear from Derek’s mouth. _I love you, I need you, please don’t leave me, I trust you_ , but what it comes down to is that, _you aren’t a joke to me_ and Stiles shrugs Derek’s hands off. 

“You can’t just…” he starts and Derek growls quietly, an angry rumble to match the anger pounding of Stiles’s blood. 

“What? Protect you? Yes I can Stiles, you’re mine to protect,” Stiles supresses the shudder that the word _mine_ , the almost base need to sink to his knees and show Derek just how much he is his. 

“No I’m not!” he shouts instead, pushing at Derek’s chest. Derek steps back, face expressionless, as usual and that just makes Stiles even more angry. “I’m not pack, I’m not yours, why cant you just be normal for once and let me make my own mistakes?” Derek flinches at _normal_ , looks like he’s been punched for a second before his whole demeanour closes down. 

“Because mistakes with _abnormal_ people like me get you killed, I can’t afford that,” he says and there’s a slight begging in his tone, like he needs Stiles to get it. 

“Why? Why can’t you afford that?” he demands, Derek drops his gaze to Stiles’s lips, back up to his eyes and then the floor. 

“You know why,” he mutters and Stiles lets out a bitter laugh. 

“No Derek, I really don’t,” he spits out turning away from Derek. 

“Stiles...”

“No you know what? For once, you shut up,” Derek blinks as Stiles spins back around and points at him, “this is my life Derek, I cant live it under your fucking wing forever. Ok and now I’m thinking about you with wings…but the point is, I’m not pathetic, I don’t need you to look after me all the goddam time. I happened to emerge unscathed from an encounter with one of your so called “dangerous roaming pack” members just today. And look…” he holds his arms out, “all in one piece.” Stiles lets out a strangled gasp as his back hits the wall and Derek’s solid body pins him in place, Derek’s eyes flashing red as he grips tight at Stiles’s arms. 

“You spoke to one of them?” he demands, pulling Stiles back off the wall and slamming him back again. Stiles grunts as his head hits the plaster. 

“Derek, let me go,” Stiles pushes against his hold and Derek’s fingers tighten. 

“Did they hurt you, Stiles…tell me,” another shake, and Stiles nearly bites on his tongue as his teeth clack together. 

“Let. Me. Go,” Stiles uses all his strength to push Derek off and Derek stumbles backs, shakes himself, closes his eyes and breathes, “they didn’t…but you just did,” Stiles rubs at his arm. 

“Stiles…I’m…fuck I’m sorry,” Derek reaches out, like he wants to touch, to soothe, to pull Stiles close and kiss him. Stiles steps out of reach. 

“Don’t…” Derek’s face falls, and Stiles feels a stab of guilt, he hates that look and he put it there. 

“I didn’t…” Derek starts and stops, grimacing and then running his hand through his hair in frustration. _I didn’t mean to hurt you_. Stiles feels the need to pull him close, to touch him, reassure, _I know, I’m not leaving_ , but his anger bubbles again and he steps back one more time. 

“I know,” there’s a flash of hope in Derek’s eyes, “but don’t you see? You still think I’m that stupid kid that trespassed on your property looking for Scott’s inhaler, you don’t see that I got you to let me go, that I punched you blindfolded, that I figured out Matt was a wolf by the twitch in his nostrils when he caught scent of you. I’m not an idiot Derek, and I’m not pathetic. And you have to fucking see that.”

“I do,” Derek protests, weakly and Stiles scoffs, shoves his hands into his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to touch Derek. 

“No you don’t…” he shakes his head and Derek takes a step towards him. 

“Stiles…” 

“Just…just don’t ok? I have to go,” he doesn’t wait for Derek response, tries not to run down the steps towards his jeep, fumbles with the keys and tries to ignore the prickling in his eyes as hot angry tears threaten to fall. 

…

It takes three hours of Stiles moping, sighing loudly and watching crappy TV for his dad to ask what’s wrong. And even then it’s just a sideways glance and a raised eyebrow to which Stiles just shrugs and shovels another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. He makes a mental reminder to thank Cassie for introducing him to the wonders of Ice Cream and heartbreak. Not that he’s broken hearted of course. He’s just pissed. And a little melancholy. And his arms still throb gently where Derek’s fingers had dug in. He’s not pissed about that, he knew what he was getting into when he started fucking around with a werewolf, he knew Derek, if pushed, could hurt him. And it wasn’t so much hurt as it was surprise that another wolf talking to Stiles was what got Derek to snap. He always knew Derek was possessive, it sparked some latent need to be looked after in Stiles. And it was fine. But that’s not what he’s pissed about, he’s pissed that Derek trusts him enough to fuck him, trusts Stiles to save his life numerous times, but not to look after himself when it comes down to it. That Derek lied about it, that Derek claimed him without Stiles’s knowledge. 

And somehow Stiles feels like the lying is the worst. 

A tiny voice in his head is singing to him, telling him he wanted to be claimed, to be marked by Derek. And he did. But he’s trying to wrap his head around Derek doing without him knowing. All the touches, the hard fucking, the way he rubbed his cheek against Stiles’s skin. Christ, even wearing Derek’s t-shirt. And no doubt the come Derek spilt over his chest was a dead give away. 

Stiles sighs again and stabs his ice cream with his spoon. 

“When you were six, your mother walked out on me,” Stiles’s dad says suddenly and Stiles drops his spoon. They don’t talk about his mom. Ever. But Stiles’s dad has got that ‘this is important’ timbre to his voice and Stiles looks down at his hands. 

“What?”

“She took you and left,” he says and Stiles puts his ice cream tub on the coffee table. 

“I don’t remember that,” he says, not pushing it even though every fibre of his body wants to know what the hell happened. 

“You went to stay with Scott,” and Stiles suddenly remembers. The surprise sleep over, his mom staying as well and Stiles had asked if his mom and Mrs McCall were having a sleep over as well. Stiles’s mom had just smiles, gently pushed him upstairs. But Stiles can still remember sitting at the top of the stairs with Scott, legs dangling through the railings, listening to his mom crying. He’d gone to Scott’s room to play soldiers, forgotten about it and the next day they’d gone home. Stiles’s dad lets out a small laugh and runs his hand through his hair. “She was so pissed at me. I was trying to keep you both too close. She was sick then, only just but…it was enough to scare me.” Stiles swallows the lump in his throat. He remembers when they told him, 7 and not sure of what that meant, grabbing the Tylenol from the cabinet and shoving it into her hands. “Sometimes, we suffocate the ones we love, because we love them. And then we do stupid things because we’re scared of losing them.” 

“Dad…”

“I don’t know what’s going on with you and Derek, but that kid adores you, even though he doesn’t show it, may not even say it,” Stiles lets out a bitter laugh, “just…give him the benefit of the doubt, ok? By all means be pissed now, scream, shout, walk out, but there comes a point when you can’t stay angry anymore, because you just waste more time.” 

His dad curls his fingers around the back of Stiles’s neck, tugs him forward and kisses his forehead. It’s a gesture that makes Stiles feel like a kid again and he swallows around the growing lump in his throat once more. His dad pats at his knee and stands, runs his hand across Stiles’s shoulders. He’s by the door by the time Stiles finds his voice again. 

“Hey dad?” The Sheriff stops at the door, looks back at Stiles, “thanks.” He dad smiles gently and nods. 

“Don’t eat all that,” he nods at the ice cream, “Derek wont like you fat.” He grins and the atmosphere lifts. 

“Charming.” 

…

The porch swing sways gently as Stiles kicks his feet against the dust on the wood boards. Stiles made Derek put the swing up, and Derek had done it with his usual grumbling and eye rolling but had sat with Stiles for most of night the first night it was up, his arm resting around Stiles’s shoulder, playing against the fabric of his jacket as Stiles kicked at the floor. More often than not its Erica, Isaac and Boyd sitting in it though, curled together like a pile of puppies. 

The light’s fading, the moon slipping behind the tops of the trees and Stiles pulls his hoodie over his head and crosses his arms in front of him. 

It’s his red one, the one that still smells like Derek, and his stomach twists as he thinks of him. He’s been sitting here for an hour, waiting for Derek to get back from wherever his is. He honestly has no idea what he’s going to say but his dad’s words are still whirring around his head. 

_You can’t stay angry anymore_. 

There’s a truth in that, being angry is exhausting. Stiles remembers how angry he was at everything when his mom died, how tired he was, tired of just being angry the whole time. Derek may have crossed a line, broken a tiny part of Stiles’s trust in him, but it’s Derek. And Stiles is hopelessly lost when it comes to Derek. 

He draws a line in the dust with his toe and hears the distant rumble of Derek’s car. 

One thing that Stiles wishes he could change about Derek would be the fact that Derek never seems surprised to see him. Just once he would like to catch him out, watch as his face slips from surprised to pleased. Derek pulls the car into the drive, gets out looking like something out of a magazine shoot and Stiles’s stomach flips. Derek pulls his sunglasses onto the top of his head as the sun finally sinks completely. He doesn’t say anything, just walks up the steps and sinks down next to Stiles, his hands folded uselessly in his lap. 

Stiles opens his mouth to speak and for once in his entire life he has no idea what to say, and no words come. Derek sighs, he sounds tired and Stiles wants to look at him, run his fingers across the dark circles under his eyes.

“My dad told me a story,” he says quietly, suddenly, and Derek jumps slightly and out of the corner of his eyes Stiles sees Derek turns his head to him. “About how my mom left him once, because she felt stifled,” Derek twitches like he’s going to interrupt, thinks better of it and turns his head back to the trees, “and he said that when you care about someone you do stupid things, like completely ignore their need to be independent.” Stiles turns to Derek then. 

“Stiles…” he starts, lifts his hand and traces his fingers across Stiles’s knuckles. 

“I get it, I’m 147 pounds of pale skin and fragile bones and you’re….well, you’re not,” Stiles waves his hand at Derek. Derek’s not pale skin and fragile bones, Derek is muscle, strength, powerful and all consuming. 

“No, I’m not,” Derek shifts, rubs a hand across the back of his neck, “I…fuck,” he stands and Stiles lets his gaze wander out to the trees, “I just…Stiles…” he trails off and Stiles stands, curls his fingers around Derek’s wrist and tugs until Derek looks at him. 

“I need you to explain it to me, I know why, but I need to hear you say it…” Derek looks down, “please Derek.” Derek frowns, lifts his hand and cups at Stiles’s face, runs his thumb across his cheekbone. Stiles leans into it, because even though it’s only been a few days since Derek’s touched him like this, Stiles feels like he’s starving for it. 

“You’re Pack,” Derek says finally, and Stiles pulls away, shakes his head at Derek’s confused frown. 

“Not good enough,” he says and turns, walks down the steps towards his car, his stomach twisting. He needs to hear more than that, he needs to hear Derek say he needs him back, needs to hear Derek say that he loves him, he’ll settle for less but a hell of a lot more than “you’re pack” which he’s been hearing since Stiles saved his life in the pool all those years ago. 

“Fuck…Stiles…” Derek’s voice is loud, a hint of desperation and for a second, Stiles forgets how fast Derek can move, until Derek’s breath is hot against his ear, “the others…they were a necessity…you…” he spins Stiles around to face him, “you were a choice. I needed them, I _wanted_ you. I always wanted you,” he runs the tips of his fingers down Stiles’s cheek, index finger over his bottom lip. “The others, they already smell like me, and other packs will know they’re off limits but you…” he pauses, curls his hand around the back of Stiles’s neck and pulls their foreheads together, “you smelled like you, maddeningly so, and no one would have known you were mine and it…Stiles it drives me crazy that I can’t protect you the whole time.”

“You don’t have to,” Stiles pushes at Derek’s chest slightly, but doesn’t step away, Derek slides a hand down his spine, palm hot against the small of his back. 

“You don’t get it…” Derek shakes his head and lifts his gaze, dark, heavy and serious, to Stiles, “I do have to and I always will, because you’re more than Pack Stiles,” his lifts his hands and cups them both around Stiles’s face. 

“What am I?” Stiles asks and Derek cocks his head to the side, his nostrils twitch like he’s testing the air for a scent of something. 

“Mate,” Stiles’s stomach flips like the pathetic girl that he is. He knows that’s the best he’s going to get, and it’s the closet to _I love you_ that Derek can manage. That’s ok, he gets it, and if the way Derek’s clutching at Stiles’s face is anything to go by, Derek’s as hopelessly fallen for Stiles as Stiles is for Derek. 

“That’ll do,” he says, there’s still hurt swirling under his skin at the lack of trust, but they both have things to learn, they both have things to learn about each other to make this right. 

Derek’s lips curl at the corners, slightly, slowly, like he doesn’t know if Stiles just said what he said and Stiles fists his hand in the front of Derek’s shirt and hauls him forward, crashing their mouths together, Derek lets out a noise of surprise, fingers tightening against the skin of Stiles’s neck, slides one hand down his spine and pulls their hips together. His other hand cradles at the back of Stiles’s head, fingers running through his hair and Stiles pulls back, “are you done with the whole marking thing or…” he trails off and Derek raises an eyebrow at him, cocks his head to the side and dips his fingers into the back of Stiles’s jeans. 

“Oh I see,” he says quietly, “now you know what it was…” he pushes his hand all the way in and slides a finger between Stiles’s ass cheeks, Stiles groans, shifts his hips forward and tightens his fingers into Derek’s t-shirt, “you like it.” 

“Well,” Stiles starts, bites off the words as Derek presses a finger, slightly awkwardly at this angle, into Stiles’s body, Derek growls softly in the back of his throat. 

“Mine,” he mutters against Stiles’s neck and Stiles runs his hands down Derek’s sides, curls his fingers into his belt loops and tugs their hips together hard. 

“Mine,” he says back and Derek lifts his head, blinks once and then nods. Because this claiming thing? It goes two ways, and Stiles may belong to Derek, may be Derek’s mate, but Derek belongs to Stiles. 

“Yours,” Derek replies with a twitch of his lips.

Stiles loves Derek, and he knows now that Derek loves him back, and that Derek’s terrified of Stiles leaving, like everyone else in Derek’s life has done. He also knows now that they both have steps to take to make this better. 

But right now it can wait, they’ve both got some claiming to do.


End file.
